Malus Hominis
by Kemnam
Summary: It's been three years since Dean went to hell. What did he do? What has he become? Will Sam have to hunt down his brother, like he has feared since the day he died? Alternate story beginning at end of S3. VERY DETAILED torture, sex, and violence! Dean POV in Hell mostly...
1. Chapter 1

New Story! This is a take off after "No Rest For the Wicked", and goes a completely different direction.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, its characters or its concepts

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The pain from the tearing of the hellhounds claws was nothing like Dean imagined it. It was much, _much_ worse. Dean could feel his ribs break and the ripping of his lungs. He tasted blood in the back of his throat when he screamed, and could feel the warmth of his own blood wash over his neck. The hellhounds burning red eyes bore into Dean's own as his claws dug deeper and deeper into his chest, trying to reach his heart, fangs glistening and wet. Dean tried to push the ragged beast away, but the dog was too strong. The hellhound buried its muzzle into Dean's bleeding cavity, teeth snapping and tearing as they went. Dean couldn't scream anymore, his throat too clogged with blood. He heard Sam screaming his name, Lillith looking on with deep satisfaction. As he started to drown in his own blood, Dean felt the hellhounds maul wrap around his heart and crush it like a water balloon. The pain overcame his mind, and he started falling. The last thing he saw was Lilith grinning wickedly as tears streamed down his brothers face. The last thing he heard was Sam desperately yelling and the hellhounds viscous snarls. Darkness surrounded him the moment the light left his eyes.

Dean was vaguely aware of falling into darkness. There was a light above him, but he was falling away from it. It shined down on him, fading with every moment. His blood floated above him from his chest wounds, forming in little streams and droplets. Ruby jewels, that had lost their precious meaning of life. And yet, there would be lot's of it where Dean was going. Dean maneuvered himself in his fall, facing the way that he thought he was falling, wind streaming past his face and hair. His eyes watered with the speed, but he kept them trained ahead of him, keeping his eyes looking for the oncoming glow of hell fire.

Despite the way the wind was coming at him, it was Dean's back that hit the ground hard, the pain going from his chest to his spine. Dean groaned feeling the hard, cracked ground beneath him. Dean opened his eyes, and was greeted with a deep darkness. He sat up and looked around, not that there was much to look at. He couldn't even see his own hand in front of his face. Dean could tell by the weight of his clothes that his leather jacket was gone, and so was his amulet. He put a hand to his chest, and was a little surprised to see that it had been restored to unmarred flesh, bone, and organ. Silence engulfed him, but it was a very deep, unsettling silence, unlike anything Dean had ever heard before. Like the darkness, it was thick and suffocating, like a blanket of realized why this was so after a few moments of listening. The steady rhythm that had been so natural when he was alive was gone. The high pitched whine of the blood rushing though his veins wasn't ringing anymore. His heart had stopped beating. It was the first time Dean experienced true, pure silence.

When Dean tried to get to his feet, he heard a scuffling behind him. He spun around, but didn't see anything. He slowly turned back to the way he was facing, shoulders tense and senses alert. They were watching him. His sixth sense told him they were. Even though, Dean wasn't really sure who 'they' were. But they didn't do anything, didn't make a move. Where they demons? Was this Hell? That was when the whispers started. They started as just a few voices, non-stop, frantic, and it was hard to tell if they were male or female, but they quickly grew. Dean snapped his head this way and that, trying to see the figures in the darkness. He positioned his body in an attack stance, ready to pounce on the nearest thing that approached him. But the whispers didn't seem to come any closer. Only grow louder and more frantic as more whispers joined in. It became a roar like a river or a waterfall. Dean felt cold irrational fear in his chest, fear of what he couldn't see, fear of the unknown, and fear of what was to come.

"Come on!" Dean yelled to the whispering darkness. "I don't got all day!"

Dean stopped at that. He actually did have all day. That, and the rest of eternity.

The whispers died down a little, and Dean could barely hear the sound of feet scurrying around him, coming closer and closer. Dean clenched his fists and steeled himself for the first attack. But it never came. The footsteps were so close, Dean could have sworn that they were right in front of him. He swung his arms in front of him, but was met with nothing but air in his grasp. The footsteps receded, and the whispers faded away. Dean straightened and unclenched his fists, more confused than ever. Dean had always thought that Hell was about pain, torture, and punishment, a place where the wicked went for justice. And, until recently, a place where human souls became demons.

So, what the Hell?

Dean got his literal answer in a far off rumble. He looked up and saw a flicker of light. The light was surrounded by moisture and mist, like lightning a cloud. The storm cloud was low hanging, slowly moving towards him, menacing and dark. Each time the lightning struck, it got louder and closer. Dean watched it approach for a second, terror filling his being as he realized that Hell was coming to him. But there was no way Dean wasn't going to stick around and make it easy for them. He turned and sprinted into the everlasting blackness ahead of him, not really sure where he was running, as long as it was away from the gateway to Hell.

Something grabbed his ankle, and Dean hit the ground again, hard. Looking back, he saw a red gnarled hand illuminated by the lightning gripping his ankle. The owner of the hand remained unseen. When he rolled over, the cloud was right above him. Lightning continuously lighting up it's structure. It dropped down on him, surrounding him and filling his lungs, tasting like blood and acid. Dean coughed, and struggled to get up, but the hand held him tight. An enormous hook on a thick chain shot out of the electrified mist and impaled his left ankle. Dean cried out, and another one drove through his left wrist. Each of them were pulled taut, causing Dean to yelp and fall back on his back. He thrashed and flailed his remaining limbs. The hand gripping him let go just as his other ankle was soon impaled, and his right wrist followed with two hooks soon after that. Dean was soon lying spread eagle on the ground, the chains pulling his flesh ever whichway. One more hook came from above him, driving through his shoulder. The hooks glistened with blood in the lightning. Another came from the side and sliced into his plexus. He gritted his teeth and screamed though the pain. Dean felt blood at the back of his mouth, and he tried to hack it up the best he could.

The hooks started to rise, lifting him off the ground and straining his limbs. Dean's eyes widened, unable to make a sound from the intense burning in his joints. It felt as if his shoulders and hips were going to dislocate themselves. As the chains lifted him higher into the gateway, he could see many, many other chains, all leading off into the mist. There were thousands of them, could they all possibly be attached to a person? Dean strained his ears, and sure enough, behind the thunder, he could hear screaming. Dean knew that if his heart was still beating, it would be fluttering like a caged hummingbird. The thunder surrounded him, a welcome-to-Hell chorus that shook Dean's bones and vibrated the hooks. Hot air surrounded Dean, rising in temperature until sweat pricked his brow and started to run down his face. His hair was damp within a few seconds. Tears also formed in his eyes, blissfully cool on his eyelids and cheeks. Until they, too, started to boil and evaporate.

"Help!" Dean cried out loudly. The empty mist seemed to amplify his voice. "Somebody help me!"

Dean looked around frantically. "Oh, god…" No one was coming to help him. So he called out to the only person he thought would.

"SAM!"

* * *

Dean was dropped on his back again as the hooks yanked themselves out of him. He rolled to his knees and looked up. It was still misty, but the light of a large, unseen fire illuminated the space Dean was in. Not too far away, Dean could see a structure hanging in the air. As the mist started to clear, Dean's jaw dropped in horror. Hanging from a cable leading off into the mist hung a frame of metal. It looked sturdy and tough, the crossbar a thick pole of iron. Hanging below the crossbar like teeth were four hooks, sharp and long like meat hooks in a butcher shop. Dean scrambled in the opposite direction of the rack, his breath coming so hard that it actually made him whine a little. Dean didn't get very far. An unseen force stopped Dean in his tracks and lifted him up in the air. Dean yelled and protested desperately. Dean flew backwards through the air, back the way he came, and onto the rack. Dean howled in agony as the hooks pierced through his shoulder and wrists. A fire engulfed Dean's body, but it didn't burn his skin. His shirt and jeans burned away, and so did his boxers. Shackles clamped themselves around his ankles, weighing him down on the hooks. Dean hung naked on his rack with his arms spread wide, hot air engulfing his body in the most uncomfortable way. The mist was thin, and the cable his rack was attached to started to move, making Dean swing on the hooks painfully. Dean thought he would pass out from pain, but his mind stayed alert, and as the mist finally faded away, a new kind of terror took hold of the former hunter.

There was no landscape, just fire everywhere. Fire, blood, and screams. Cable lines that had more people dangling on racks similar to Dean's were strewn all over the place. There was no place that the cables were leading, as far as Dean could tell. The souls in Hell were just being showcased for the demons like the choice cuts of meat at the supermarket, and there were thousands of demons to feed. Their forms were smoky, they drifted through the air like phantoms. But physical matter rested underneath. Their flesh was torn and the limbs were disfigured. Their eyes were red and filled with hate and murderous rage. They ripped the souls apart, bellowing their wrath and might. The souls were helpless. Dean took in the sight with horrified eyes, his lungs filled with ash and hot air.

As the cable line he was on entered hell, one of the demons spotted him. Dean made eye contact with the demon, seeing the flicker of recognition in it's eyes. It let out a scream that caught everyone's attention.

"Dean Winchester!" It boomed, and almost all the other demons growled. "We've been waiting for you." Many demons crowded around Dean. Their horrible faces came up close. Dean could almost see their faces beneath the smoke. But they smelled like death. Dean strained away from them, clenching his teeth hard. Without a doubt in his mind, he knew these must have been the demons that He and Sam had exorcised throughout the years. He knew that there were a lot of them, but he never imagined this many! Dean's eyes flicked between all the demons, and with all the smoke and fire, Dean almost didn't see the broken, charred hooks protruding out of their shoulders and wrists. The exact same type of hooks that impaled Dean now. The twisted metal at the top gave the impression that they had twisted and struggled out of them. Chains clanked from around their feet. Deans chest clenched as he felt the last of his hope die. Each and every one of these demons had been where he was now. Dean knew in the back of his mind that it was only a matter of time before he joined them.

"Oh how the mighty fall." A demon hissed as it slid past his ear.

"Not so tough without your salt and holy water, are you?" Another, running a finger down his spine and making him shiver.

"Now now, fellas." Dean looked up to see the demon that had recognized him. "First we gotta explain the _rules_."

The other demons laughed. Dean gritted his teeth and growled. He hated being played with

"Why don't you stop wasting my time and just get on with it?!"

"Woah, woah! What's the hurry, Winchester?" The demons cackled again. "Just a few things you need to know before you become... part of the family."

Dean couldn't tell which demon was speaking. It seemed like they all were at the same time.

"Rule number one... you won't be needing this." A demon sprang forward and plunged it's hand through Dean's chest. Dean gasped like his breath had been knocked out. He choked as he felt the demons clawed hand digging around in his chest cavity, the sharp nails working quick to dislodge veins and muscle. The demon yanked his hand out. Dean felt a painful shift in his chest, making him yelp. The other demons were laughing loudly. The demon that had attacked Dean held his hand up for him to see. Like a purple, chunky bag of soup, Dean's dead heart sat strangely on the demon's palm. The demon took his other hand and pierced the heart with a claw. Pain blossomed in Dean's chest, burning and throbbing worse than anything he had ever felt before. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain. The demon twisted it's claw in the heart, increasing the pain tenfold. Dean threw his head back and released his first scream into the depths of Hell.

"Huh, it's kind of small, isn't it?" One demon observed his heart.

"I think it's broken, too." The demon holding his heart shook it like a broken watch, and Dean's breath hitched. He could still feel his heart, even though it wasn't connected to him. The demon tossed his heart over it's shoulder, where it fell and disappeared into the bowels of Hell. Dean felt the pain as his heart burned away.

"Rule number two," a second demon began. "Smoking is only allowed in the designated areas."

A pillar of fire sprang up from the burning inferno beneath Dean. This time, the flames burned his skin away. The scream Dean let out was higher pitched than anything he had ever done before, and was then morphed into a strangled cry as his vocal chords tore themselves apart. The flakes of his skin drifted away in the hot air currents, his muscles sizzled and his blood boiled. The capillaries in his eyes exploded, his hair withered into nothing. Dean felt his tongue blister, his toe and fingernails crinkle painfully. His organs roasted from the flames, and in the end Dean had been transformed into a smoking husk. Unrecognizable, his chest huffed shallowly. Dean would have closed his eyes if they hand't become melted together.

"The designated smoking areas are... everywhere." The demons howled with amusement. Dean hung limply on his rack, his whole body stinging.

"Rule number three." A low growl came from behind him. "In case of an accident, seek medical attention immediately."

There was a sudden rush of cold air, and Dean was shocked to find that he could breath easy again. He looked down at himself and gaped at what he saw. He was whole again. His skin and hair were back, and even the hole in his chest was gone. Dean looked up at the demons. They glared back at him. Dean understood. His soul would keep healing so the demons could keep tearing.

"And finally, rule number four..." A demon stepped in front of him, looking down on Dean with fierce eyes. "If you want us to stop, all you have to do is say _'please'._" Dean couldn't see the demon's mouth, but he knew the thing was smiling cruelly. It wanted Dean to beg for mercy.

"Well...?" The demon tilted it's earhole toward Dean.

Dean licked his lips and looked up at the demon, he craned his head so his mouth was right next to the demon's head, took a deep breath and-

"GO TO HELL!"

The demon hissed as it slapped it's hand on it's head. It growled as it turned back toward Dean, but faltered. The soul of Dean Winchester was smiling. By God, he even looked excited. Dean puffed a laugh before he spoke.

"You think I'm impressed?" The demons scowled at him. "You're nothing but the same bottom feeding scum that I exorcised. Cowardly, insignificant, and disgusting. So go ahead, tear into me and do your worst. Nothing is ever going to change that!" He turned to the demon right in front of him. "I'll take it all. I _will not_ be ground down by the likes of you lot of maggots. You can rip me apart, but you will never forget my name, and that I was the one to send your sorry ass back to Hell."

The demon roared and swung its hand at Dean's face. Dean's head snapped hard to the right and he felt a pop and tearing in his jaw. Something warm ran down his front, and there was a wet, heavy thing sliding back and forth across his neck. The demons were laughing. They moved in closer, sheer excitement in their eyes. The demon in front of Dean laughed the loudest.

The demon help up its hand, and Dean's eyes widened, his tongue tasting blood as it swung numbly from his torn mouth. The demon waved his jawbone out to the other demons.

The demons rushed him, a pair of claws racking hard against his back, penetrating his spine. Dean screamed.

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A/N: If you were wondering, YES, I did just wake up one morning and decide to go all out on a torture fic. It'll get worse, believe me. ALOT worse, because I have a sick twisted little mind.(bwahaha)

Nevertheless, read review, and enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

The torture begins...

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For the first couple of years, it was just the demons tearing at him nonstop. You would think that sooner or later they would get tired of playing sock puppets with his kidney's, but the demons always seemed to get a kick out of it. One demon liked to cut open one side of his arm, detach the muscle from that side, and see what different kinds of things it could make Dean's hand do. It would do the same with his legs, his neck and his spine.

The pain never stopped, and Dean never got used to it. He couldn't do anything but simply hang there and let them demons have him. Sometimes, the demons would leave him alone for a minute, and Dean would start magically putting himself back together. During the rejuvenation, there was always a whisper in his ear.

"You have the power to stop this, Dean." It sounded like the wind at the back of a cave. "You don't have to go through this torture. You know what you need to do to be free."

Dean tossed his head back and forth, trying to shake the voice away. Blinking his eyes, he suddenly found himself in a field, like the ones on earth. The sky was dark and cloudy, a storm brewing over his head. The field was littered with bodies, torn and mangled. Heads twisted fully around, limbs separated, insides on the outside. They were all human, and their faces were frozen with shock, horror, and pain. They stretched for miles in all directions. A massacre.

"Look what you will be able to do." The voice said. "Look at how much power you'll have."

_Oh god…_Dean lifted his hands to his face to cover his eyes. They were covered with something warm and sticky. Blood. Soaked in blood. And sticking out of his wrist like some deformity were the hooks, the tops twisted and melted where he had no doubt broken them.

The vision disappeared and Dean was back on the rack. Demons were heading towards him, ready to begin anew. Dean braced himself for the on coming pain.

"No." Dean gritted his teeth. "I will never be one of you. I will never stop fighting!" He turned to the demons. "Come on! What are you waiting for?"

The demons stopped and looked at each other. Had the fire and blood finally taken his mind? Did hell finally drive Dean over the edge?

Even as the demons tore open his abdomen and tugged at his organs, Dean just gritted his teeth and growled. One demon clamped down on his bicep and started chewing, and Dean still didn't scream. They punctured his lungs, broke his neck and snapped all of his fingers and toes off. They twisted his hips all the way around so that Dean could look down and see his own butt. They took out his vertebrae like they were pulling weeds, and dug out his knee caps with their jagged claws.

And still, Dean didn't scream.

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A/N: I hope that scene at the end was gruesome enough to stand up to it's rating. If not, please let me know. Like I said before, I want to go all out in this one in every way. 'Nother chapter coming up.

Please! Read, review, and enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

Demon's lie... right?

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He lost track of the days, and by now he didn't really care. It could have just been a century back up on earth, and Sam could have been dead. It could have just been a few minutes, and Sam could still have been fighting with Lilith. But Dean didn't care, his heart had been ripped out enough times to make it feel like it wasn't there anymore. When he was rejuvenating, a small part of him would stay twisted and mangled. The first time it was the bite on his arm, next it was a protruding bone on his shin. Each time his body retained a little more damage, and Dean felt himself slipping further and further into the darkness of hell.

"Congratulations, Dean." That voice said again. "You're done with your twenty-fifth year."

Dean groaned. _Was that all it was?_ God, it had felt like a century! Did that mean it was twenty-nine years up on Earth? Was Sammy dead by now? The thought of Sam being dead gave Dean a strange feeling of sorrow and peace. If he was, then that meant he was in heaven, with mom and dad and the rest of their family. Dean smiled at that thought. He could remember back when he was four, almost five, when his mother had kept him home from school to bake cookies. Little Sammy sat in his high-chair, laughing and drooling as their mother dabbed a bit of flour on his nose.

Dean smiled at the memory, but also felt something tug in his stomach. He looked down. Nope, no demon there.

"Feeling homesick?" a scratchy voice said. _God damn it…_

"Leave me alone." Dean groaned.

"That's not the point of hell, is it?" Meg said, circling around in front of Dean. "Besides, I haven't had a chance to talk to you."

"What could you possibly-"

"I can tell you about your brother."

Dean's eyes snapped open, and he faced Meg. Her face was twisted and deformed beyond human recognition. One side of her jaw hung lower than the other, her hair was dirty and missing in some places. One big red eye pierced Dean's gaze.

"Ah," Meg said, her twisted, lipless mouth curved into a grin. "I see I pushed a button."

"And why should I trust anything you say?" Dean growled. "You demon's lie all the time."

"Takes one to know one, Dean." Meg snapped. This silenced Dean immediately. "Besides, isn't knowing something better than knowing nothing at all, even if it might not be true?"

Dean lowered his head but said nothing. It wouldn't surprise Dean at all if Meg and other demons had been watching his brother from hell. And no doubt Sam had been hunting down and exorcising or killing demons since Dean had died. But knowing Sam was alive…

"I can do better than tell you." Meg purred, seeing the decision on his face. "I can show you."

Meg grabbed Dean's chin and forced his mouth open. Her form disintegrated into black smoke, and rushed at Dean's face, entering through his mouth and eyes. As soon as Meg was in him, Dean sealed his mouth and shut his eyes tight as a torent of images rushed through his brain.

Sam was everywhere. Sometimes Dean would see him on hunts, but most of the time, he would see his little brother at a crossroads, or other dealing points. His eyes were red and glassy like he had been drinking a lot. Demons would laugh at him, say he was chasing a fairy tale ending that wasn't real. They would still be laughing as Sam stuck them through with Ruby's old knife.

Sam had become more violent, more vicious. Meg showed him a scene where Sam had flayed the skin off of a shapeshifter. He would break bones, stab, cut, and blast his way through monsters by the dozens. But Sam must have worn himself down, because the next thing Dean saw, Sam was lying in a bed in someone's abandoned house. He was pale and his breathing was shallow. He was murmuring Dean's name, his face twisted in pain and tears streaming down from his closed eyes.

Dean could feel the heart he didn't have breaking. His brother was alone. He had left him by himself to fight a war that he had no hope of winning alone. Just another gentle reminder of how he had failed to keep his family safe.

_Please Meg. No more…_

_It's just getting to the good part._

The scene suddenly shifted to a house that had boarded up windows. There was a fire in the fireplace, and Sam's things were laid out on the coffee table. Sam himself sat on the couch. But there was someone else sitting with him. Sitting ON him.

She had black hair, an almost latino sort of look. Both she and Sam had their shirts off. They were kissing intimately, holding each other tight. Muscles were rippling under skin, and sweat started to appear. Dean almost started grinning, until Sam lowered his head to the back of her neck, and the girl gasped and threw her head back. She opened her eyes, pitch black and demonic.

Dean felt himself give a hard yank on his rack. No, this couldn't have been true, Sam couldn't be… But denying it didn't keep Meg from showing the horrifying spectacle. They were in bed, her legs wrapped behind his back. The smooth motion of Sam's hips and her soft moaning made Dean feel like barfing. Her eyes remained black throughout the whole thing.

Sam moved his head close to her bare chest, his lips brushing softly over the tip of on of her nipples. The girl shivered, and gazed lovingly down at the top of Sam's head. Sam looked up and stared into her black eyes. His mouth hung open a little, and Dean kept waiting for it to hit Sam that he was in bed with a demon. But Dean lost all hope when Sam's lips curved into a smile.

Dean gave a blood curdling scream. The other souls on racks were shaken out of their pain for a brief second at the sound. Demons laughed and cheered for Meg. No had been able to get Dean to scream like that. His scream lasted loud and long, drowning out all the other screams of hell.

"SAM!" Dean yelled, maybe hoping that his brother could hear him. "SAM!"

Meg continued the horrible scene in Dean's head, making him watch as Sam and the demon bitch took turns pleasuring each other. Dean thrashed on his rack. Tossing his head this way and that. The hooks in his wrist make bigger holes, pulling at his skin and muscle in all directions. He can hear Meg laughing in his head, turning on to the sound of his anger and sorrow.

The demons stop their torture for a moment and watched the soul of Dean Winchester pull at his hooks. The hook going through his right wrist is starting to bleed badly, but lucky for Dean, you can't bleed to death in hell. The ulna became disconnected from his wrist, protruding out from his arm and stretching the skin. Meg is replaying the scene of the demon and Sam climaxing over and over again. Even when his eyes are open, Dean sees it.

"Stop!" Dean yells, frustration fueling his thrashing and tugging. "Enough!"

The hook is straining through muscle and skin now, tearing and ripping from the huge amount of pulling from Dean. Finally, the skin breaks apart and Dean's right hand is free. Dean's eyes are completely red. He lifts his disfigured arm up to his face and grabs his left eyebrow, sinking his fingernails in for a secure hold.

"Get. OUT!" Dean yanks hard. Almost all his forehead, the skin down to the bridge of his nose, his eyelid, and even a small part of his scalp go flying into the abyss of hell. The demons around can only stare in amazement. None of them had expected this. But Dean wasn't done yet.

With the eye that still had an eyelid closed tight, the other bare eye immediately became covered in blood. It dripped down his torso and sizzled on the burning ground. Dean was in the worst physical pain he had ever experienced. But now Meg was showing Sam exorcising demons without an exorcism, he would cut open the demon girl's wrist and suck the blood right out of her, all the while she had an enormous smile on her face, stroking his head. Sam's smile had turned from that of someone who smiled even at the worst of times to someone power hungry and evil. As demon bodies burned around him, Sam smirked.

Dean moved his free hand back to his face, over his left eye. He curled his fingers and dug them into his eye socket, making a sick squelching sound and a small _snick. _His face was twisted in agony, a growl emanating from his chest. Blood spurted out from Dean's fingers, and black smoke curled out of the eye socket. Dean took his hand away, gripping something in his palm. All of hell was watching Dean.

He opened his palm, revealing the bloody eye sitting their almost naturally in the center. The eye still worked, so that while Dean was also staring at the eye in his hand, he could see through the eye staring back at him. He saw one side of his face, sweaty, dirty and almost human looking. Then the other side of his face, the skin torn off, covered in blood, smoke pouring out of the empty eye socket. Dean saw himself scowl down at the eye.

"I said," Dean growled, his voice deeper somehow. "Enough!"

Dean crushed the eye. Black smoke spouted from Dean's eye socket as Meg was finally pushed out. Dean's face remained calm and stoic as for a few seconds, hell was completely silent. Dean lifted his hand and hooked it back onto the rack. His body began to rejuvenate around the hook. The skin on his face grew back, but the eye was gone for good.

Demons surrounded him. It had been a long time since they seen anything like that. Even the oldest ones could vaguely remember. And some of these demons were really fucking old. Meg had disappeared, but no one seemed to care about the major event she had directed. Standing just feet away, all the demons watched Dean.

Dean sagged on his rack, like all the energy had been taken from him. He closed his eye and hung his head, his breathing turned shallow and raspy. The parts of his body that were broken and mangled stuck out at odd angles from his relaxed form. A single tear, glistening in the firelight, fell from the empty eye socket. It evaporated before it hit the ground. The demons couldn't help but be extremely shocked.

Dean Winchester, the world's greatest hunter, had given up.

Suddenly hell burst into rumbling and eruptions of fire. A great voice rang out, and all the demons cowered away.

"Bring him to me!" It roared. "Bring him now!"

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A/N: I know these chapters aren't very long, but at least the content is good, right? And you guys WERE warned at the beginning that this was going to be pretty far fetched.

And for those of you who aren't impressed so far, let me know! I will GLADLY go into detail if you want! ;) It's not too late to edit these chapters.

So please, read, review, and enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

Dean has given up, but his true torture is about to begin...

* * *

The cables that dragged Dean through the hundreds of demons now led him to a very dark and hot place. Steam blasted at his face, carrying the stench of rotted bodies and bodily fluids warmed over. Dean couldn't help but note how strange that was. Bodies don't rot in hell, because there are no bodies. And you can't have bodily fluids if you don't have a body. But Dean just kept his eye shut tight and tried not to breathe. Dean's hooks gave painful jerks as his whole body shook. Dean looked up to see that he had been transferred somehow. Instead of the normal cables, Dean was now hanging from a rusted chain. The chain carried Dean down a gruesome part of hell that looked like a hallway from the museum for the absolutely deranged. Display cases passed by Dean slowly, showing horrible creatures and demons.

For instance, in one display, vines covered the walls and ceiling. Small branches spread out from the vines, and growing from the flower pods were human heads. Their mouths were gasping, opening and closing without a sound. In the center of the plant, on one huge stalk, what looked like a flaming brain with barbed wire around it sat. Another display showed a man with fire and blood coming from his mouth and ears. His screams were muffled by the glass, but Dean could imagine how horrendous they were.

As Dean made his way through the horrific museum, the beings in each display grew more deformed and mangled. Finally, the chain holding Dean led him into a large stone chamber. Dean's chain stopped, and he hung there, dangling above the ground. On the other side of the room, there was a pale, naked figure standing in front of an operating table. The face of the figure on the table was blocked, but the hand and legs Dean saw seemed almost human. It had no fingers or toes, it's skin was a sickly pale blue. The pale figure doing to operation put down a bone saw on the tools table to it's left and picked up a nasty drill. The sound of the drill on whatever-it-was sounded horrible. Dean closed his eye, trying to remove himself from the scene. The drill finally stopped after a couple minutes, and a voice spoke. But the voice was very familiar to Dean, the voice of a person who had spoken to him everyday for a long time.

"You may go now," the voice sounded like it belonged at the back of a cave, or the deepest part of the ocean…

Dean snapped his eye open. The figure on the table had just gotten up. It had swung its legs around to the other side, so it was facing away from Dean. When it got up and walked around, Dean saw that its face was a gaping hole, filled with blood pooling in the middle, like gravity was keeping it there. As it walked past Dean, Dean could hear what sounded like a waterfall coming from the face. The figure stopped in front of Dean, and Dean saw his face reflected in the pool of blood. Dean saw his one eye, and the gaping hole next to it. The sound of the waterfall got louder, and blood came from the empty eye socket. It also came from his nose, his mouth, and his ears. Dean tried to close his eye again, but found that he couldn't. The Dean in the blood was screaming, thrashing, dying-

Blood face was pushed away by the pale figure.

"I said, GO!" The demon hurried out of the room. The pale figure turned his face to Dean, eyeing him with what seemed to be about twenty differently colored eyes. A gaping whole rested where his mouth should be.

"Dean Winchester…" His silky voice sounded. "Well, isn't this a surprise."

"Who are you?"

The demon smirked. "Just a fair warning, you're gonna want to show me more respect in the future." He turned away from Dean, starting to clean his tools.

Dean scowled, "Excuse me. Who the fuck are you?"

The demon slowed in his procedures and turned to face Dean. The eyes had turned completely black. The next thing Dean knew, the demon was sticking a razor blade into his empty eye socket. It hurt, a lot more pain than the other demons had caused, but still, Dean did not cry out. He grimaced instead, feeling the warm blood fall down his cheek like tears.

"I'm going to be frank with you, boy. Pay attention, because this will never happen again." The demon whispered. He twisted the razor, making Dean's real eye start to water with pain. "You will never feel the same pain you felt when you were out there. In here, it will be a thousand times worse. Your soul will be stretched to the thinness of a hair, and your psyche will be pushed so far you won't even want to come back. If you thought my little toys were scary," the demon licked his lips. "Just wait till you see what I've got in store for you."

There was something different in the way this demon approached Dean. It wasn't with vengeance, or just plain violence. This guy was cold, calculated, and even worse, knew his way around a knife. This demon, for the first time in a while, actually scared the crap out of Dean. The demon twisted the knife hard. Dean growled.

"Do I make myself clear?"

Dean was shaking, sweating, trying to put on his brave face. The burning in his socket filled his whole body, and Dean just wanted it to stop.

"Yes…" Dean quivered out. "Yes…" He didn't know what to call this demon.

"Alistair. Welcome to real Hell, Dean."

Alistair pulled the razor out with a rough yank, and blood splattered the wall. Alistair walked away, licking the blood off of the razor. Dean's chains began to yank and move him away from the demon. They dragged him out into the hall and down a dark corridor, where Dean couldn't even begin to imagine what was in store for him.

* * *

A/N: Wow...how long has it been? A year? More? Less? Anywho, I kept getting emails saying that this story in particular was getting a lot of alerts and favs. So I was peer pressured into posting this new chapter. Thanks everyone :)

Also, if your reading my other stories, I will be posting stuff with them again soon. I'm not done with these things yet. :P


	5. Chapter 5

I'm ALIIIIIVE!

Dean worst torture yet begins. And oh so slowly, Dean begins to change.

* * *

Dean didn't think it was possible to sleep in hell. But when he opened his eye, he had no memory of how he got to the place he was, or even when he had fallen asleep. It wasn't a very good sleep, with the hooks yanking at his every fiber constantly.

The room he was in had no walls, instead having plastic sheets separating each of the separate compartments, assuming that Deans wasn't the only one. There weren't very many lights on. Security lights, basically. Illuminated figures, all attached to cables like Deans, hung limply in their rooms. Dean could have sworn that their outlines looked very familiar. But Dean couldn't place why. As it was, nobody made a sound.

Dean felt awkward.

"Ahem…" Dean coughed.

The person in the compartment to Dean's left began to scream in pain. It was a woman, and Dean watched her writhe in pain on her rack.

"Hey!" Dean called out to her, and the guy in front of him also started screaming. The woman's shrieks got louder, and then it was as if Dean had tipped the first domino. Scream after scream after scream erupted into the air, and the more Dean called out to them, the more they screamed. Dean felt a tear welling up in his eye. He squeezed it shut and clenched his jaw, listening to the screams of the people around him. One by one though, they began to die down after a while.

"I wouldn't say too much if I were you." Alistair said coming up behind Dean. "This place is called the quiet room. Nobody talks, nobody gets hurt. Anybody who does talk is the only one that can't feel the pain."

Dean trained his eye on the demon and concentrated all of his hate into that one glare. Alistair saw this and stopped, staring deep into that eye. Dean couldn't tell what Alistair saw in that eye, but apparently it turned him on. The demon squirmed in his white skin.

"Why Dean, if you keep looking at me like that, I might just have to cut you down myself." Alistair said pulling out a straight razor. He moved it slowly across his neck in a loving way, keeping all of his eyes trained on Dean's single one. Dean looked away in disgust. The demon was naked, after all. It didn't take much to figure out what he was thinking about. The demon had a wicked smile on his face.

"I'm afraid that I can't work very well in this condition, and it would be a shame to destroy a specimen such as you. So if you'll excuse me while I get this out of my system." Alistair turned and went behind the plastic sheet to the compartment on Dean's left, where the woman hung on her cable. Dean could only see their outlines.

The woman looked up at the demon, and Dean could tell that she was trying desperately not to scream, he heard her whimper a little, and the sound itself caused him pain. But he didn't make a sound. The outline of Alistair changed, horns showed on his head, and his claws became as long as his arms. The woman finally screamed. Dean's mind exploded in pain, and for each person that also began screaming in pain, the burning in his mind doubled. But nothing got louder than the woman's screams.

The horrific demon circled around behind the helpless woman. Alistair's claws pierced through her thighs and yanked them apart till the chains on her ankles were pulled taught, the only part of herself that she could not protect exposed to the demon. The demon roared at her. The outline of his mouth was huge, his jaw opening to almost all the way through his head. He pushed the woman's legs farther apart until Dean could hear the muscles tear and the bones break. The outline of her legs snapped off like chicken bones, but were still connected to her, probably only by skin. Her screams became louder, which made others scream louder in turn. Dean finally could not hold it in anymore. He growled as an instinctual way to try to relieve pain psychologically. It didn't work. He swore; a long stream of cussing through gritted teeth, as another tactic with the same effect. But it didn't work either.

Dean finally screamed. Blood dripped from his eye socket. The outline of the demon and the woman was blurred by the tears in Dean's eye, but he could still see pretty much what was going on.

Alistair shoved himself inside her from behind, and Dean couldn't even imagine how much it hurt, because Alistair was hung like a horse. Dean watched with his eye and empty eye socket wide open as the demon gyrated against her. His animalistic growls and her screams filled the air. Dean had to scream again, just as he felt the pain from her screams reaching its limit.

Huffing and out of breath, Dean found that he could not keep his eye away from the demon rape scene that was happening in front of him. The outline of the woman's abdomen started to swell, getting bigger and bigger, almost like she was pregnant, and he was watching it grow in fast motion.

But then she became too big, too unbelievably swollen for it to be natural. The woman had stopped screaming, but Dean could still see her mouth open from her profile, a silent scream that seemed to cause even more pain in Dean than any scream before. With one final climactic grunt from the demon, the woman's body heaved, her dislocated legs swinging wildly, and her abdomen exploding in a black mess. Some of the material actually managed to slide under the plastic sheet that separated Dean from her, and he saw that it was actually a disgusting mess of red, pink, yellow, and white. Dean could only guess as to what the yellow and white gunk was.

Dean looked away as he heard Alistair pull himself out with a sickening _squelch_ and the creaking of the chains as the woman hung limply on her rack. He heard the demon pull the plastic sheet aside as he re-entered Dean's section, and hung his head.

"Now…" The demon purred. "Where were we?"

Alistair suddenly started laughing. It was genuine laughter. Not evil laughter for the sake of the moment. He truly found something funny.

"I'm sorry," the demon said, wiping a tear from a few eyes. "But, do you know what was ironic about that whole thing?" Alistair said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the woman. "She was a witch when she was human, who used her powers to make herself more alluring to men, and she was a prostitute!"

The demon doubled over and slapped his hands on his knees. His laughter rang throughout the endless Hell, loud and clear and truly disdainful. After the demon had gotten over his laughing fit, he stood up straight again, and trained all of his eyes on Dean.

The former hunters face was hidden in shadow, blood still trickled from his empty eye socket, lightly pattering on the floor. Dean made a noise, and Alistair had to get closer to try to tell what it was. But there was no need. Soon after, Dean let out a deep, resonating laugh. Dark and menacing, it started out as a light chuckle, then exploded into a bellow of laughter as Dean tossed his head back, laughing at the ceiling.

She was a witch whore and now she's getting raped by demons in Hell! Oh the irony, oh the justice. It was just too much. Dean's body shook with laughter, rattling his rack, and the hooks in his wrists and shoulders began to twist and bend. His laughter continued, and he barely had room to breath before each fit took him over again. Strangely, the people on their racks around him didn't make a sound.

That bitch, serves her right, Dean thought as his laughter died down. Dean stopped at this last thought, running it over in his mind. Somehow, it just didn't seem right. It wasn't something that Dean Winchester would normally think about other people. The smile disappeared from his face, and he turned his head to look at Alistair, fear in his eyes. Had the demon planted that thought in his head?

Alistair looked Dean hard in his eye, and then walked slowly in front of the former hunter. Alistair reached his hand towards Dean's face. Dean didn't flinch when the demons thumb brushed across his left cheekbone. The demon pulled his hand away and examined his thumb. Then, smiling, he showed the thumb to Dean. Black blood was smeared across the skin. Dean's eye widened. Had that come from inside him, from his empty eye socket? What did it mean?

Alistair's grin stretched wider, and he licked the blood off of his thumb. Then, without a sound, he turned and left, leaving Dean hanging on his rack in silence.

* * *

A/N: Haha, funny story, I had lost the drive that all these stories were on and hadn't had the time to look for it because I was starting college, but then I found it on my desk in my dorm hiding behind my tissue box. Haha! Funny right?

Alright, all of you people who have been begging for more. I better see some damn good reviews, because I'm technically supposed to be doing homework. Priorities and all made me do this first. So, read, review, and enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

Another day in hell... or is it?

* * *

There were some days where Alistair would actually come and give Dean a good old fashioned, let's-see-how-much-this-hurts torture. But these, in Dean's opinion, were not the most horrible of experiences in Alistair's hell house. It was the days when he would torture the people next to him. The woman, whose legs and torso seemed to have rejuvenated, the man hanging to his left, and the older man hanging in front of him. Their outlines flickered in the security lights, and Dean couldn't help the feeling that those outlines were _very_ familiar, he just couldn't place where he might have seen these outlines or heard those screams. But what Dean started to realize was that the more Alistair tortured the other people, the more Dean got acquainted with torture, so much to the point that he didn't feel remorse or pity for the soul that was being tortured.

That fact was what scared Dean most of all.

"Don't hurt yourself, son." Alistair said coming up behind him. "That's my job."

Dean did his usual one-eyed glare. It had never been the same glare that Dean had on the first day he woke up. It had been about three weeks, and black blood had not dripped from his eye since, and he had not had another of what Dean decided to call a demonic episode. Whatever effect Hell was having on Dean mentally and physically, it seemed to come and go. None of the other souls seemed to be showing any sign of changing.

Alistair came in front of Dean and stood with his back to the man, hands on his hips. He swung his head between the three other souls, his many eyes pondering something.

"It seems that I am strangely not in the mood to do any slicing today." Alistair stated. A pang of fear jolted through Dean. Alistair not in the mood to torture? That could _not_ have been good. Dean's forehead began to sweat, and he was sure that if his heart was still beating, it would have been pounding. Alistair turned to Dean, his face completely emotionless. His many different colored eyes scanned over Dean's bruised and broken body.

"How about we just talk today." Alistair said.

Dean was caught off guard by this. Mental torture was not how Alistair usually did things, not without incorporating some sort of physical torture as well. What was the demon planning? Dean opened his mouth to say something, but immediately shut it, eying the other souls around him.

"Don't worry, boy." Alistair said. "As much as I love the sound of a symphony of screams, it does make it difficult to have a conversation. They can't hear us."

Dean cleared his throat to test what the demon had said. None of the other souls had made a sound. Alistair must have turned off the torture for now.

"Go ahead, ask me anything." Alistair said, crossing his arms and setting his legs apart in a comfortable stance.

Dean didn't know whether to cuss the demon out now or later, now that he could talk. But the time for mouthing off had come and gone, and would not have served Dean any good. But there was something that Dean needed to know, something that had been tearing at him since the day Meg came to see him. And Alistair just might be the demon that would know for sure.

"Is it true?" Dean asked, his voice hoarse from not being used. "Is it true about Sam?"

Alistair smiled. "Come now, Dean. Be more specific." Dean scowled. Please don't make me say it, Dean thought.

"Is Sam really fucking a demon!" Dean growled.

Alistair closed his eyes, and Dean wondered what he was thinking about.

"Yes, Dean." Alistair stated coldly, opening his eyes. "And drinking her blood, and using his demon powers. Everything Meg showed you was real."

Dean felt broken. This whole time, he had secretly hoped that it had all been a lie. Hoping that his brother would not betray what he, his father, and himself stood for. Dean could understand that after he had died it was hard for Sam. Drinking, rampaging, and trying to make deals; that was easy to get. Hell, Dean had done, and would without a moment's hesitation do the same thing again. But to stoop so low, as to travel with a demon, to bed with a demon, to _drink demon blood_.

"Why. Why would he…" Dean drifted off as he felt a sob rising in his chest. Misery washed over him. Tears formed in his eye.

"It must be hard for you to know that you failed your brother." Alistair said, his voice strangely soft. "You couldn't save him from his destiny, you couldn't save him from himself, and you couldn't save him from us."

As much as Dean hated the words Alistair said, he knew they were true.

"Your father would be so disappointed in you."

Dean snapped at that.

"Don't you dare talk about my father!" Dean lurched forward on his rack. "You know nothing about him!"

"Oh Dean, how very wrong you are." Alistair straightened and began to circle around Dean. "John Winchester, died age 47. Born 1962 in Tulsa Oklahoma, he was in the marines for five years, and married at a young age. His wife, your mother died years ago in a house fire. Setting out on a path of vengeance, he and his two young boys, you and Sam, tracked and hunted down the demon known as Azazel. He raised his children to be deprived of a real childhood so they could follow his path to vengeance. Sam tried to leave this life after a big argument with him and went to Stanford. After a devastating car crash that had you in a coma in the hospital, he made a deal with Azazel to save your life, and was sent to hell-"

"Alright, enough." Dean snapped. "It's no surprise that you would know about him as much as you know about me."

"But Dean, I wasn't finished yet." Alistair said coming around in front of Dean, his eyes trained on the man's face. "While in hell, John was subject to the worst tortures imaginable. Torn, turned inside out, ripped to shreds, burned, and broken till he was unrecognizable. He would scream for his sons, for his wife, weeping like a lost child. Quibbling and whimpering like a pathetic bitch."

Dean listened, knowing that Alistair was not lying, but still having a hard time believing what he was hearing. It had crossed Deans mind a couple of times, wondering what his father had gone through in hell.

"Yet, through all this, John remained defiant and just, refusing to give into the throws of hell, holding onto his stupid humanity and the hope that he would be granted mercy, praying like only a truly devout man would. Then, after fifty years in hell, they sent him to me."

Alistair stepped closer to Dean, making him recoil on his rack.

"He told me all about both of you. How you always tried so hard to please him, and Sam tried so hard to be normal. It was a nightmare raising the two of you alone, especially when you looked like his late wife, and Sam acted like her. I told him about how Sam was starting to grow in his abilities, and the first thing he said was 'I knew Dean couldn't handle it'."

Dean turned his head away from Alistair, tears rolling down his cheek. He could feel the sting of tears in his eye socket, and squeezed his eyes tight. Sadness sat like a hot stone in Dean's belly.

"He said he would have been prepared to take the appropriate measures to make sure Sam would not reach his destiny and hurt more people. He said that he hoped Dean would realize what had to be done as well. He didn't shed a tear when I told him that Sam had died in that ghost town, and he didn't smile when I told him you had made a deal to bring him back. He sighed in relief, and scowled in frustration. Then came the day that the gate was opened, and he sprinted for the exit, hoping to get the chance to somehow do what you couldn't, and kill Sam before it was too late. I told him that there wasn't a chance in hell that that would happen."

Alistair went silent. Dean turned as Alistair backed away from Dean. He turned and looked at the soul hanging from the rack in front of them, the older man.

"So you see, Dean, I know your father _very_ well."

Dean was shaking, shivering with the knowledge of what he had just heard. Immediately, he tried to rationalize it. Maybe his father wasn't in his right mind, maybe his father was crazy from the fires of hell. Maybe-

"It seems that you have disappointed your father, once again." Alistair whispered.

Dean froze on his rack. His breathing was hard, as his sadness was replaced with anger. He could not feel blood dripping from his eye, so he was not having a demonic episode.

"No…" Dean growled, as he could barely contain himself. "It was him who failed me."

Alistair turned back to Dean, waiting patiently for Dean to-

"It was him who couldn't do what had to be done! If he had let me die in that hospital, then he wouldn't have had me in the way, and he could have done whatever the fuck he wanted!" Dean jerked forward, the hooks snapping against him. "There were so many times when I wanted to join Sam in his rebellion against our father, show him that he couldn't treat us the way that he did. But no… no I stayed loyal, stayed obedient, stayed by his side." Dean threw his head back and roared at the sky, pulling against his hooks and heaving himself up. "And this is how you repay me, you bastard?! This is what I get for everything I've done for you and Sam? You took away my life and I still gave you everything!"

With that, Dean have a very frustrated and rage-filled cry. Alistair ran up to the man on the rack. The joints on his hooks were burning white hot. He grabbed Deans chin and made the man look him in his many eyes.

"Tell me, Dean." Alistair spoke hurriedly, like he had to be quick with what he had to do. "If your father was here, what would you do?"

Dean's breath came ragged, and his hate showed clearly on his face. But for a while he said nothing, just glaring at the demon.

"Say it, Dean Winchester!" Alistair bellowed. "What would you do if the man who ruined your life was standing right in front of you?"

"I would make him suffer!" Dean growled. "I would make him realize the pain and isolation that he put me and my brother through, by making him relive my mother's death over and over again. I would make him beg for me to stop, to show him the mercy that he prayed for."

Alistair jumped away and ran to the plastic curtain in front of Dean. He grabbed the curtain with his clawed hand and ripped it off. Dean reeled back, pure and utter shock now mixing with his rage.

John Winchester lifted his head, one cheek was swollen and cut, a leg was twisted all the way around, and his ribs on the left side of his body were showing through the torn flesh. For a moment, father and son stared at each other.

"Dean…" the man said weakly. "Why…"

"Dad?" Dean squeaked. "Is that really-"

"Why couldn't you just… do what had to be done?" John growled, his eyes hard, glaring at Dean. "You…disappoint me."

Dean hung from his rack, tears in his eye, staring at his father who was waiting for an answer. Dean's vision turned red, and his tongue tasted metallic. His whole body began to shake, a pressure building in his chest, certain to explode unless Dean did something right now. Alistair stood to the side and watched with hungry eyes.

The hooks were bent forward by the force of Deans urge to get to his father, the overwhelming need to kill this man all too evident in his eye. He pulled and struggled forward in a desperate attempt to break free. The hooks were burning white hot, searing the skin around them and sizzling the metal chain they were attached to; bending and twisting with every move Dean made. He screamed and growled and swore in frustration.

"You're going to pay for what you did to me and Sam you fucking bastard!" Dean threatened. "I won't disappoint you this time! You're going to pay, so help me-"

There was a loud crack, a deep sound that resonated through the room, and Dean's right arm lurched forward. He snapped his head around and froze. His right wrist had come free. The hook was white hot, and his flesh was smoking, filling the air with the horrid stench. The tip of the hook was bent and twisted, and Dean watched as it slowly cooled down. Dean turned his head toward his father, but he had disappeared. There wasn't even any blood on the floor or any chains where a rack would have hung. He had never been there to begin with.

Alistair began to walk away, but stopped by Dean's side.

"By the way Dean," Alistair said slyly, his voice slick like oil. "Congratulations on your 80th year in hell."

Alistair walked away into the darkness behind Dean. Dean twisted around on his rack, reaching his free hand towards the demon.

"Wait!" Dean called. The woman burst into screaming, followed soon by the younger man. "WAIT!"

But Dean was left alone once again, and turned back on his rack, his right arm hanging by his side. His head was so filled with thoughts and questions that they all just mixed together into a massive hum. What had he done? How much of himself was already burned away by this madness, and how long would it be till there was nothing left? Tears overwhelmed Dean's eye again, and this time he couldn't hold them back. Dean wept uncontrollably, pressing his hand over his eyes. His cries faded away into the bowels of hell, accompanied by the outside screams of the other souls.

* * *

A/N: This story is probably my most followed and most favorited so far. So once again, peer pressure made me do another chapter for this gruesome story. Not a whole lot of gore going one here, but some pretty good mental torture and hardcore venting (I hope).

I have nothing against John Winchester (by the way, I totally made up all that stuff about him), it just seemed too early for Dean to be bitching about Sam. That time will come. And this should answer the question that NO, this not like the series, as Dean has now been in hell almost twice as long as the show.

Seriously you guys, if you haven't go check out my other stories, like Tiger Moon and Preacordia, as well as Tenebrea. The ones with the Latin names are part of the Vetro Arc, which are stories that are not connected, but all share a similar theme.

Once again, I'm expecting some damn good reviews for this. It's 2 in the morning, I'm going to bed. My email should be full of alerts when I wake up.


	7. Chapter 7

The torture continues, but this time he's got friends...

* * *

_Meanwhile, on Earth..._

The Impala roared down the back roads of Oklahoma, heading towards Oklahoma City at roughly 95 miles per hour. What the huge rush was, only the man in the car knew. He himself was relaxed, and held an air of dark confidence. A faint smile just barely graced his lips, and his brow was set in a cruel line that bunched between his eyebrows. He looked like a man that was about to do unspeakable things. And was going to enjoy it, too. But today was a special day, and most people who knew him also knew that he should _not_ have been smiling like that. It was hard to smile today, many people found. But certain people found different ways to succeed in doing so.

Ellen and Joe had baked a small pie, peach flavored with a little rum for good measure. Bobby had watched the movie that he and the boys watched almost every time this day came around. Other people that had known what this day was celebrated in their own little mournful way, whether it be by lighting a candle in remembrance or raising a glass of whiskey to the heavens. After months of trying to forget what had happened and who had been taken from them, this day brought them an unexpected relief, allowing them to remember a spirit that was undying in the hearts of many. A collective hush hung over the hunter community. Yet strangely, the only person not joining in the unspoken vibe of the day was the same man that had been most affected by what had happened and what this day meant.

His eyes were dark, his hair long and a little disheveled. He was driving with one hand on the wheel, the other laid across the back of the seat. There was no music playing, the radio wasn't on. Silence engulfed the cab of the car. It wasn't that he didn't know what this day was, or how to celebrate it. God no, how could he forget? People said that he had gone cold, but he wasn't _that_ cold. This day was very special indeed, celebrated in the best way that he knew how. Shortly, he would arrive in the city, and the hunt would begin. Could it really even be considered a hunt? Or was it more like a deadly re-enactment of Nazi's and Jews? Whatever people wanted to call it, in his mind that was warped and twisted by grief and a constant hunger for vengeance, he knew his brother would be proud of him, and he wished he could be there on this day to see him come so far. _I'm doing this for you, brother..._

Sam looked over to the thing in the passenger seat. He reached a hand over and stroked the worn leather jacket that had laid untouched since it was put there about nine months ago. He had gotten to the point where he could look at and touch it without getting teary, but something in his heart still ached. His hand moved past the jacket to the glove compartment. He fished around through the registrations and other papers, switching his eyes back to the road every couple of seconds. As his fingers grasped the cold metal flask that he kept stashed there, another ache twitched in his heart. Sam felt a little bad about keeping demon blood in Dean's old banged up flask, but he was sure that if his brother could see what he was capable of now, then he would understand.

Sam unscrewed the flask and sniffed the content. The pungent metallic aroma tickled his nose and made his mouth water. He looked out the window to the setting sun in the west, and raised the flask.

"Happy Birthday, Dean." He whispered. Then he drained the flask.

* * *

Dean was lopsided. His right arm hung uselessly by his side, putting his whole body off balance on his rack. The hook in his wrist itched, a constant reminder of how close Dean had been to losing it all. Black veins could be seen webbing out from the hook underneath his skin, like some kind of infection. If he tried to move his arm in any way, the hook in his right shoulder would grind and scrape against muscle and bone. Dean stared ahead, gazing at the spot where his father had supposedly hung all these years that Dean was in the silent room. The blood stained concrete wall on the other side gave Dean a good estimate of how big the room actually was. He could see both corners of that wall. So the room wasn't nearly as big as Dean though it was. As far as Dean could tell, it was just him and the two other souls in that room.

Dean turned his head and looked at the young man that hung on his rack to Dean's right, and then his gaze switched to the woman that hung to his left. As he had watched Alistair torture these other souls, and listened to their screams through his pain, he got more sure about who these people were that hung in the torture chamber next to him, and just why their outlines seemed to familiar. He got the feeling that these souls were people that he knew, not just random souls that Alistair had handpicked for no reason. They were all there together for some purpose. What that purpose was, Dean actually had a working theory about. And the thought just made him laugh.

Dean would watch Alistair talk to them as he had talked to him, but he couldn't hear a thing. The outline of their lips and jaws moved, but nothing could be heard from beyond the plastic sheet that hung between them. No doubt the demon was trying to coax the other souls into damnation. Dean wondered why he even bothered, since he was pretty sure that the other two souls weren't even there. No doubt, they were just phantoms, like his father was, whose only purpose was to unleash the evil within Dean.

One session, about a few weeks after Dean had snapped his hook, Alistair entered the room from behind Dean like he always did. He smacked Dean on the butt, making him jump and grit his teeth. He always did that just to make the former hunter angry. The pale demon strolled past him. He had a new look, more human, but still just as strange and terrifying. Just two eyes now, but the iris's were colorful, seeming to have collected the colors of all the eyes that he used to have. But they were still dark, each shade a sickly color of the natural. Much like a blood-soaked rainbow. On his head spiraled two ram-like horns, the tips coated in blood, even dripping with it, as if he had been doing battle with them.

"Sorry kiddo, not your turn today." Alistair stated in his silky voice. "But I'll make sure to get you in sometime tomorrow."

Dean gave a very audible and frustrated sigh, making Alistair stop just as he was about to go under the plastic sheet separating him and the woman.

"There a problem, son?" Alistair asked, coming to stand in front of Dean. "If you're so desperate for my attention, then by all means, speak."

Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. Dean was confident that he had already caught onto Alistair's game, which gave Dean a sense that now he was somewhat immune to what ever tortures Alistair could come up with for him and the other souls. He felt prepared.

"Spill it, kid!" Alistair barked, his eyes seeming to flare with a slight anger. Dean smiled, assuming the scream torture had been turned off.

"You think I don't know what you're doing now, Alistair?" Dean said, leaning forward on his rack. "Don't get me wrong, I like getting the special treatment. But now that I know what your game is, you can't do anything to me." Dean let the cocky grin stay on his face, feeling so sure that he had called the demon out.

But Alistair just stood there. He stared at Dean with a skeptical look. He crossed his arms and pursed his lips, thinking about what exactly to say.

"And what, pray tell, is my 'game'?" Dean gave the demon an annoyed look.

"You want me to vent my family issues." Dean stated. He lifted his free arm, hiding the grimace on his face, and indicated to his right. "Sam." He implied, then pointed to his left. "Mom." Dean dropped his arm, a half smile playing at his lips.

"I'll give you this, using my father to release all my rage and frustration on was pretty effective." Dean said twisting his wrist. "But I don't have any quarrel with my mother, who I've only known for the first four years of my life. If anything, she's was what was good about me." Dean looked at the outline of the woman. "Isn't that right, mom?" Alistair continued to watch and listen, his face emotionless.

"And Sam..." Dean began, facing the demon again. "Well, we may have our differences, but he's my brother. No matter how bad or stupid he might get, no matter how low he stoops, I would never go so far as to torture him. If anything, I would beat him senseless, lock him in some room, and leave him there to sort out his misgivings by himself. I will always give him a second chance. You know why? Because I know that he is good. He tries too damn hard, which makes it easy for others to take advantage of him. But he is trying to do whats best. And can never punish him for that."

Dean realized that he had gone from staring at the demon to staring at the outline of the man to his right. He turned his head to face the demon again. "So you see, Alistair, you have nothing on me. Dad, mom, Sam, it doesn't matter who you direct my anger towards. My family will be the one thing that I can never come to completely hate."

"I know." Alistair stated.

Dean's still heart gave a painful jump of fear. _What?_

"Dean, do you know how many souls I torture in a day? In an hour?" Alistair spoke again. His stance didn't change, but his voice seemed more impending now, on the verge of rage. "Thousands. _Millions. _So many souls that I barely keep track. For you to think that I'm giving you some sort of special treatment is absurd. Get over yourself, it's not all about you."

Dean's smile forcefully stayed on his face. But inside he was faltering, that uncomfortable feeling on the back of his neck with knowing that Alistair was right, and he was angry. What had he been thinking, challenging Alistair? His immuneness to other peoples pain and his own arrogance had made him cocky.

"And second, you seem to not have realized the point of Hell." Alistair stepped closer to Dean. He stopped a couple feet away from Dean's rack. "Hell, is not about learning how to hate other people. Humans can do that all by themselves. Hell isn't even about pain and punishment, as so many people like to think." Alistair crept even closer, his horns beginning to circle past Dean's head so that all he saw was those beautiful, terrible eyes. His own eyes reflected back at him, one brilliantly green with terror, the other gaping black with nothing.

"Hell is about striping you, tearing you down, grinding you to nothing but your most basic needs and desires. The desires that suit us most of all. Indeed, hate and the desire to inflict pain are traits that we build upon, but those are just two of the many evil things that human being are capable of. Cruelty, cleverness, betrayal, raping, to kill without hesitation, to take joy in others suffering, chaos, and madness. So many wonderful ways of tipping that balance in the world. Then, after your molding is done, you will be built back up around those needs and desires. We will turn you against your human nature, and you will revel in the freedom of that release. That, my dear Dean Winchester, that is why you are here." Alistair's voice boomed around Dean's head, with each word a growing pressure made itself known in Dean's empty eye socket. He could see from the reflection in the demon's eye that black blood was beginning to brim in his eye like a grotesque tear.

"I am not hear to serve you." Alistair continued, backing away from the soul on the rack. "You are here to serve us. Think of this as demon boot camp."

The anger and disgust in his voice had been palpable in the air, suffocating Dean with it's dark energy. He gasped as the demon finally broke his glare and turned back to the woman.

"Now if you'll excuse me," Alistair strolled toward her. "I have business to attend to."

Dean continued staring straight ahead at the concrete wall. No, no Alistair had to be lying. He just didn't want to admit that he had called him out on his game. Dean had won this round, right? Right?

Liquid spilled from his eye. Dean couldn't see if it was black or not, but he could only assume that he was having a demonic episode. But, strangely, at the moment, Dean didn't care. His mind raced as he tried to come up with a way to turn this whole thing back on Alistair, like it should be. He wasn't going to let this demon get the best of him. He swung his arm up to his face and wiped his eye, smearing black blood on his arm and across his cheek and nose. He set his good eye into boring into the demons retreating back.

"Prove it." Dean barely got his voice above a whisper. Alistair froze in his proceedings, catching the demon just as he was about to go under the plastic tarp. Dean swallowed and spoke again. "If those people aren't who I think they are, then prove it. Or are you just another lying mother fucker?"

It was a gamble, and a bad one at that. Dean knew, and he could tell that Alistair knew. But the demon must have gotten tired of playing this little game. He turned back around to the former hunter, his brow and mouth set to thin lines in annoyance. He lifted one clawed hand and gripped the curtain separating him and the woman. With a swift downward yank, the curtain came free and fluttered to the floor.

Dean stopped breathing. No, no this wasn't right. Not her, _anyone _but her!

"You said she was a witch..." Dean gulped. "And a whore."

He could just barely see Alistair shrug out of the corner of his eye. "I lied."

Of course he had. Of all the things to lie about in the many topics that they had discussed, he just _had _to lie about this. Dean felt his lungs aching from not having oxygen. Or at least, from the notion that they weren't circulating whatever was in the air anymore. But Dean couldn't get himself to tear his eyes away. His chest swirled with a mixture of shock, anger, and sorrow. He did not expect himself to meet any souls that he knew in Hell. At least, not personally. But how could he have forgotten about her. After all, she had only arrived in Hell shortly before he did.

She was naked in front of him, her abdomen a tangled mess of half-healed flesh and organs, her ankles were twisted and awkward. One of her hands was completely devoid of any flesh, just a boney abomination hanging out of her wrist that still twitched and grasped with life. Her hair was thin and disheveled, a giant scar zippered itself in a crescent moon down the left side of her face. Her breathing sounded bubbly, like there was fluid in her lungs or phlegm in her throat. But despite all of this, Dean recognized her instantly. When she finally looked up at Dean, he could just barely register a flash of surprise in her turquoise-green eyes.

_"Dean? Dean Winchester?"_ She asked. Even though her voice was different, deeper and more like a growl, her British accent was unmistakable. _"Is that really you?"_

Dean felt his jaw slack open at the sound and sight of her. He wished he could say she looked pretty good for someone who had been in Hell for who-knows-how-long, but honestly, she looked like shit. Bruises and cuts marred her skin on almost every surface, but that was to be expected.

"Bella..." Dean's mouth was suddenly dry. "What happened to you?"

Bella sneered at him. _"You're not exactly looking fine and fit either, jackass."_

Dean looked down at himself. It was true. Dean had sustained more damage since entering the silent room. His side had been ripped open, exposing some organs to the hot air, broken ribs could be seen under his tight skin, and he had run out of toes on his left foot. He himself was covered in bruises and cuts. And Dean could only imagine what it must have looked like to have black blood smeared all over his face.

"I had no idea you two knew each other." Alistair stated. Bella and Dean looked at the demon, his eyes switching back and forth between the two souls. All three suddenly found themselves in a painfully awkward situation. Both Dean and Bella quickly tried to explain themselves.

"Well, I wouldn't say we know each other-" Dean began.

_"More like ran into each other more than once-"_ Bella added.

"Yeah, acquaintances at best."

_"I stole the gun he needed to hunt demons."_

"We destroyed most of things she sold for money."

_"A bitter rivalry if you really want to label it."_

"Well, there was that one time we worked together..."

_"That was one time."_

"You wanted to have angry sex with me."

"Enough!" Alistair bellowed. He slapped his hands on the sides of his head. "I'm supposed to be torturing you!"

Dean and Bella exchanged awkward glances, and it was at this point that Dean saw that the hook in Bella's left shoulder had been detached, the end twisted and mangled. Dean couldn't help but frown at that. It seemed that he and Bella were at about the same rate of corruption. But she had been in hell longer. Did that mean that Dean corrupted more easily than her?

"Well, we might as well get the whole family acquainted." Alistair sighed, walking in front of Dean to the other curtain separating him and the soul Dean thought was merely an illusion of Sam. Dean knew now that that presumption was dead wrong. He couldn't help himself from holding his breath as Alistair reached the the curtain and tore it down. Dean's anxiety was immediately replaced with disgust and anger as he and the man hanging on the other side of the curtain met eyes.

"It figures that I would see you here, Gordon." Dean growled.

Gordon snarled at him. His voice, too, was also different. Warped and twisted by the fires of Hell. **"Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you."**

The two men sized each other up. Gordon was maybe the worst out of the three. Of course, he had been in Hell the longest. The hunter-turned-vampire's dark skin had an ashen look to it. Pieces of his scalp were missing, as were some of his fingers and toes. The skin along his spine had been stripped off, revealing the savage white bones jutting up from his back like spikes. Burn marks charred his shoulders, both with broken hooks in them, in a symmetrical pattern. The usual cuts and bruises covered his body, but the cuts were infected and the bruises were a deep black.

But despite his zombie - esque appearance, he still radiated life. His chest moved with every breath, veins were pulsing under his skin, even though his heart had stopped beating, and Dean could feel heat coming off of him from where he hung on his wrack. He gave all signs of life that were needed to be classified as such, but it was by now means a human life. Gordon was on the edge.

"You son of a bitch, you tried to kill my brother!" Dean seethed.

**"I regret not succeeding." **Gordon sneered. His sneer then turned into a wicked grin. **"Your brothers not as innocent as you thought, is he Dean?"**

Images of Sam in bed with the demon flashed into his mind. He gritted his teeth and growled, feeling more black blood come from his eye socket.

"How did you know about that?" Dean asked through gritted teeth. The urge to maim and kill rose in his chest, but he hung on his rack without moving.

**"Big word, down here in Hell."** Gordon said. God, was his voice always so sickly smooth?** "You can hear the demons chatter if you listen close enough."**

Dean's anger felt like it was going to boil over. He felt humiliated. Not only was Sam screwing a demon, but it appeared that everybody knew about it. Meg must have been spreading rumors. He fixed his eye on Gordon and reached his free hand toward the man, clenching it into a fist.

"When I get my hands on you..."

**"Careful, now." **Gordon said softly, looking at Dean's shoulder. **"Don't want to make a mess of things."**

Dean's eye flew to his shoulder, where he could see that the hook in his right shoulder was beginning to heat up and twist. As soon as his anger was replaced with fear, though, the hook cooled and became sturdy again. Dean let out a breath he had been holding. The last thing he needed was another hook to get broken. Especially so soon after the first one, though honestly, Dean wasn't sure how long it had been since he broke his first hook. Dean had come to think of the hooks in his body as makers of his time in Hell. Kind of like life points in a video game. As long as he still had at least one hook still attached, then he would be okay...right?

He heard Gordon laughing and snapped his gaze back to the hunter.

**"Isn't it ironic, the situation we're in?" **Gordon asked lightly. **"Men, dedicated to hunting evil, protecting the innocent and ignorant, only to die and become the evil that we strove to eliminate. That, Dean Winchester, that is the ironic truth of being a hunter."**

Dean didn't say anything, just continued to glare at the soul of Gordon Walker. Gordon grinned at Dean, and he could see that his teeth were still slightly pointed, as if retaining some of the monster he was when he had died. Then he looked past Dean.

**"Bella." **He said nonchalantly, as if not surprised to see her.

_"Gordon."_ She replied, equally as bored sounding. It was then Dean remembered how they knew each other. It was when Gordon had been so bent on killing Sam that he had forced Bella to tell him where they were. But Bella didn't exactly try very hard to keep that information to herself either. Shortly after that, Gordon had turned vampire and died.

"Yes, that's very deep and touching and all," moaned Alistair as he stuck his pinky finger in his ear. "But this little reunion has put me terribly behind schedule. So..." He turned to Bella again. "We'll have to make this quick, I'm afraid."

Bella's face contorted in fear. Dean as well felt a pang of sympathy for her. When Alistair was in a hurry he got sloppy. When he was sloppy, it hurt like Hell. Alistair walked over to Bella slowly, who started squirming on her rack, her free shoulder wriggling in the air. Dean felt his gut clench as he realized that he was about to watch Bella get tortured. Some vain hope in the back of his head had thought that maybe Alistair would put the curtain back, making her a silhouette once again. _Of course he wouldn't,_ Dean thought. Even worse, it seemed, was that Alistair had turned the scream torture back on. As Bella whined and cried, Dean felt an uncomfortable pressure building in his head, pulsing down his spine.

Alistair unsheathed his claws and dug them into Bella's stomach, just below her naval. Bella groaned in pain, having seen the discomfort in Dean and Gordon. Alistair pulled his claws out, and flung the blood off of them with a quick flick. Then he put his pointer finger and thumb together and dug those two into the the lower left side of Bella's belly, he twisted his claws this way and that, as if searching for something. Bella gasped and gave a strangled cry, like she really was trying to keep herself from screaming. But it proved to be no use, as soon Gordon started roaring beastly pained cries to the sky. Now with both people screaming, Dean was forced by the pain to emit his own cry. Bella let loose her high pitched scream, ringing in Dean's ears with just how loud and terrified it was. Alistair looked like he had a bored look on his face as his fingers still searched through Bella's insides.

Alistair seemed to find what he was looking for after a few moments, and Dean could see the demon rubbing his fingers together, as if trying to cut something with his claws. Sure enough, through the screaming and pain, Dean heard and ever so slight _snip._

Alistair began to withdraw his claws, and trailing after them was the dead pink strand of Bella's long intestine. Bella was thrashing now, screaming bloody murder, her eyes bright with pain. Blood dripped down her legs, pooling at her feet. But Dean could not keep his eye away, just like the first day when Alistair had raped her, giving her the ragged abdomen she had now. Her skin pulled out at the hole that Alistair was pulling from, the demon feeding hand over hand of the eleven-foot long organ like he was feeding rope. Gordon's yelling had stopped, having been replaced with labored grunting, and Dean turned his head to see that the former hunter had his eyes fixed upon Bella as well. But his eyes did not hold a horrified captivation like Dean. Instead, his eyes almost glowed black with a sick, hungry fascination.

Bella screamed louder now, making Dean jerk his head to the side as he felt the pain in his abdomen as well now. Another cry ripped through him, matching in volume with Bella. Both cries rang through the room and the rest of Hell in a dark, terrifying harmony.

Dean opened his eye through the pain, wanting to know what was going on with Bella. It was much worse watching and actual person get tortured instead of just a shadow. Details, Dean realized, it was all about the details. Every torture session until now seemed like papercuts compared to actually witnessing the blood and gore with his own eye. _W__hy did he have to open his big mouth?!_

Alistair frowned as the feed of organ stopped forcefully, having reached the end of the long intestine and beginning to pull the large-intestine. But the hole in Bella's abdomen was too small for it. Alistair yanked forcefully on the organ in his hands, but it didn't give. Bella had gone quiet, her mouth hanging open and eyes wide, giving scared little whines at the back of her throat every now and then. Alistair gripped her organ with both hands and pulled again, swinging Bella on her rack. Alistair scowled, lifted a foot, and planted it firmly on her stomach.

Dean watched horrified as Alistair heaved with all his might, straining the intestine until Dean was sure that it was going to tear. But it didn't. Dean could see the hole stretching, the organ caught on the other side building up against it. Bella gasped and her eyes widened even further. Alistair gave the organ in his hands some slack, readjusted his grip and prepared to pull again. Dean's own eye widened as he saw the inevitable outcome of this torture session. His mind was screaming through the pain telling him to turn away, but shock kept him frozen.

A scream, bigger and louder than anything Dean had ever heard from Bella, was building in the back of Bella's throat. Like some horrid countdown, Dean could tell from her pain just how close Alistair was to finishing, as his own pain started to build all over his body alongside that horrible cry. At the last second, Dean broke through his petrified gaze and turned away shutting his eye tight, just as Bella threw her head back to the sky, just as Alistair stumbled backwards. Just as her guts exploded from within her.

Dean could hear liquids drop to the floor, spilling and squishing as they went. Bella's scream cut off like someone had suddenly pressed mute on her. Dean opened his eye. He was mortified to look back and see what the damage was. He could see Gordon, he had been fixed on the scene the entire time. His eyes locked, not even blinking. And, Dean could have sworn, there might have been a smile playing at his lips.

Dean turned away from the corrupted soul in disgust. But then he was forced to look upon Bella.

Never before had Dean seen someone, or some_thing_ for that matter, look so drained. No monster or fugly he'd ever faced, no human on the verge of death. Not even himself when he had been electrocuted could compare to this.

Alistair had simply dropped her organ on the floor. All eleven feet of her small intestine and the two feet of her large intestine lay throbbing on the floor, some non-existent heart beat keeping them alive in the sweltering air. But that wasn't all, Dean noticed. The force of Alistair's arm had also pulled out her pancreas and gal bladder, the small green and yellow organs hanging down her thigh. Part of her stomach, as well, was squeezed through the enlarged hole in her gut. Her head hung forward, and her breathing was slow and wet.

Silence hung over the souls. Alistair turned to go, trying to catch back up with the schedule he had fallen behind on. He really hated the tearing and ripping aspect of torture. It was so unclean and unprofessional. Not very artistic at all. And speaking of artistic...

Alistair turned back to Bella, picking up her organs and finding the end where he had started pulling. Dean watched, a feeling akin to vomiting stinging the back of his throat, as Alistair began to wrap the organ around her neck, shoulders, waist, and arms like some twisted version of a scarf, necklace, and shawl all in one. But you can't vomit in Hell when you don't have a real stomach to feel hunger with in the first place. Her empty cavity collapsed on itself, revealing her hip bones and lower ribs.

Alistair stepped back and admired his work. Bella hung from her rack, silent and still like a crucifix. Alistair suddenly stepped very close to her, his lips touching the top of her head as his hand reached up to grab one of her breasts, giving it a tight squeeze.

"Congratulations on your 120th year in Hell." Alistair whispered.

_Oh please, no more! _Dean begged in his mind. More for Bella's sake than for his own.

Alistair turned away from Bella, much to Dean's relief, and strolled past him and back to where ever it was the Demon always came. Leaving the three souls hanging in silence. Dean wanted to talk to Bella, try to comfort her if he could. But he told himself not to, knowing the the scream torture was still on. As far as Dean could tell, there was no healing from this damage. He watched Bella hang in her pain in silence, like he always had when she was nothing but a silhouette. Dean had thought he had gotten used to the screams and pain. He was dead wrong.

Dean grimaced and jumped in shock and surprise as a small bolt of pain shot through him as Gordon gave a small, barely audible, single bark of laughter.

* * *

A/N: I know, technically Gordon would have gone to Purgatory for being a vampire when he died. But I mean, c'mon, he wasn't even a vampire for a full day! I deem his soul still mostly human. Human enough to get sent to Hell.

I decided to make this chapter pretty long, seeing as I'll be busy over the summer with summer school and a job (hopefully I'll have one soon). I'll try to update Tiger Moon before I get too caught up in that stuff.

So yeah, Bella and Gordon! Not who you were expecting, was it? Some people were like "oooooh I know where this is going!" Oh yeah? You thought it was Sam and Mary, admit it. For lack of good physical torture in the last one, I tried to go full blast with a short one in this chapter. Hope I didn't make anyone throw up.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


	8. Chapter 8

Dean has had enough of Hell.

* * *

Gripping the crossbar of his rack tightly, Dean gritted his teeth and braced himself. The muscles in his neck, shoulders, and left arm tensed, painfully squeezing around the metal hooks as he strained against the metal. He tried not to make a sound as he flexed his left hand several times, opening and closing it into a fist. He closed his eye tightly and huffed his breath, trying not to bite his tongue as the hooks and his flesh rubbed together to make a terrible squelching noise. But then he felt it. The pull on his wrist gave away a tiny bit, moving up the hook to the open end. Dean doubled his efforts, tightening and relaxing his hand, and with each flex of his muscles, his wrist would slide a little more off of the hook. Toward its way to freedom. For what felt like hours, Dean struggled, focusing all his efforts on getting his wrist free. It was a slow process, and he stopped only to readjust his grip on the bar above his head, and to take a deep breath. His muscles strained and burned from exhaustion as the efforts started to take their toll.

Just as Dean was about to give up, he gave one final tug on his wrist, which came free from the hook, jerking him forward and making him swing on his rack. Dean opened his eye and released his breath. Amazed, he stared at his free hand, the hole in his wrist was slightly larger and was slowly oozing blood, but it was nowhere near as bad as when he had ripped his wrist off the rack the first time. The time when he had gauged his own eye out.

Dean had tried to get free of the hooks before, of course. But that was when all his hooks were still in place. He didn't have the leverage then that he had now, with one of his hooks broken. It had only just occurred to him that he should try again. He looked over at Bella, who looked just as shocked as he was. She looked better, her last gruesome torture session having healed somewhat. The string of organs that Alistair had draped around her had burned away into the air, thankfully, but her abdomen remained caved in. She looked to her own broken hook in her shoulder, then back to Dean. Gordon's face was stone, his eyes glazed over. Dean dismissed him, now focusing on trying to get his shoulders free. He had no idea when Alistair would return, so he had to act quickly.

Lifting both of his hands above his head, he gripped the crossbar again, and attempted to do a pull up. The tightened muscles in his shoulder made it particularly hard to hoist himself, and Dean started to think it was futile. After a few minutes of effort, the hooks in his shoulders still hadn't budged. Dean let himself drop down with a hard yank and tried not to groan. He could feel Bella watching him intently. Dean breathed heavily, his arms and shoulders still weak from getting his wrist free. Dean stared at the floor as he prepared himself for a second try. The time for waiting was over; the time to act was now.

Dean gripped the bar again, and this time he rolled his shoulders. The hooks painfully grinded against his muscles and bones, but it seemed to loosen the flesh from the metal, lubricating it with new blood. He looked up at the ceiling this time, baring his teeth as his arms and shoulders screamed in pain and exhaustion. But his shoulders definitely moved this time. It was a slow and agonizing process, but Dean didn't stop once, for fear of slipping back onto the hooks and losing his hard work. His head started to throb, and he could feel veins pulsing in his neck and face. Dean tried to control his breathing effectively, but the burning air seemed to sap his strength with every breath he took.

It became almost too much to bear. He resisted the urge to shout, to scream his strength and frustration into Hell. He did groan once, but Bella and Gordon remained silent, only wincing in pain. When Dean thought that he couldn't pull himself up any higher, when he thought his hands couldn't grip the bar any longer, Dean kicked his legs beneath him and almost feinted right then and there as he gave one final burst of strength. Then he let go of the bar, unable to continue.

The shackles around his feet clanged loudly as he dropped to the floor.

Dean dropped to his knees – one of which was broken now – and just barely managed to keep his face from hitting the concrete. His breath escaped him in raspy gasps. He lifted his head, blearily looking around. His hands were on the ground in front of him. His shoulders were sore, and they both had cricks in them from being pulled up for so long. As his head cleared, Dean slowly turned to look above and behind him. His rack was a lot higher than he thought it was, the cross bar about eight feet off the ground. It was a wonder Alistair was able to stand at eye-height with Dean. The three remaining hooks hung darkly, the blood upon them gleamed in the fluorescent light.

Dean wanted to laugh giddily. He had done it. He sat back, a wide grin on his face. He looked over at Bella, who was staring incredulously at him, jerking her head in a direction over Dean's head. She was mouthing words at him, words that Dean couldn't read. It was always hard to read the lips of someone with an accent. After a short while, when his head had cleared some more, he could make out the words:

_"What are you doing?! Go! Get out of here!" _Her words were fast and angry in his head. _"Get up you sodding bastard! Why the bloody hell are just sitting there?!"_

Dean shot to his feet as a shock to his system fully brought him out of his stupor. Bella was right, he had to go. Now. He looked past his rack, were he could see an opening that lead away into darkness. He started for it, but then paused and turned back to Bella. Despite how they had treated each other when they were alive, and the last words they had spoken to each other, Dean truly did not believe that Bella deserved Hell. Maybe he could still help her. He rushed over to her, a look of confusion transitioning on her face. Dean gazed at her, hoping that the words he wanted to convey were there. Bella's mouth rounded into a small "o" as she realized what Dean wanted to do. She looked at her hooks, then back to him with a quizzical look. He knew what she was asking, and he himself wasn't quite sure of the answer.

Dean crept closer to her, thinking that if she held still and stiff, and he lifted her up, maybe she could come free from all three hooks at once. He placed his hands on her hips and looked up at her, his face serious. She seemed to get the message, as she flexed her hands and arms, as well as rolling her shoulders just as he had. Dean wrapped his arms around her waist and thighs, trying not to think about how close he was to her nethers and the protruding hipbones pressing against his cheek. Bella angled herself in the direction of the open end of the hooks, and nodded at Dean. He squeezed her tight and began to lift her small, ragged figure off the frame.

It was difficult with his broken knee and shattered vertebrae and various other wounds, and he could only imagine how much it hurt Bella. But it was surprisingly quick progress. Bella's left wrist came off first, and she gripped her crossbeam and aided Dean in hoisting her up. The hook in her right shoulder was next, and after her torso was free, Bella twisted and grasped her other hand, the skeletal hand, yanking it off the hook with a grunt. She fell onto Dean, who caught her and slowly set her on the ground. Dean began to worry that she wouldn't be able to stand with her broken ankles, but like him she seemed to recover and adapt, and stood in front of him with her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes met his one, and a moment passed before they both broke out into huge grins.

Dean and Bella turned toward the dark exit. They regarded the exit with trepidation, then slowly turned their gazes toward Gordon. Dean was wary about the man. He had personally tried to kill Sam, and that was something that he could never forgive. He had absolutely no desire to save Gordon. Dean turned to look at Bella, and he could tell from the look on her face that she felt the same. Gordon laughed airily at them, shaking his head. He looked them both in the eye, amusement playing in his black depths. He pointed a finger towards the exit and mouth the word **"Go."**

Dean didn't need anymore convincing than that, and Bella only hesitated a moment longer before she followed Dean and they both crept silently through the tunnel, instantly becoming engulfed in darkness. Dean put a hand on the wall. Rough, craggy stone met his hand that was cool and wet. He felt Bella put a hand on his back, letting him know where she was. Dean stood where he was and let his eye adjust. After a couple minutes, Dean could just barely make out the details of the tunnel they were in. There was a light shining from around a corner at the other end of the tunnel, which Dean estimated was about fifty feet long.

Dean stepped forward, Bella following close behind. The ground was wet as well, feeling the dirt and mud squish between his toes as he walked. Bella and Dean snuck slowly through the tunnel. Dean's senses were on high alert. His ears were pricked, picking up the smallest noises. His body might have been covered with wounds and disfigurements, but he was moving as silently as an owl in flight. Bella also had an air about her that reminded Dean of a cat on the hunt. Her eyes were straight ahead, her toes light on the ground. They moved like shadows, clinging to the walls of the tunnel.

They were about halfway to the turn when Dean froze as he heard the wet slap of feet coming from ahead of them. He pushed back against Bella, who scrambled to get out of his way. She slipped between one of the many giant cracks in the wall of the tunnel. Though there were many cracks in the wall, none were big enough for Dean, and Bella's reduced size had given her an advantage. Dean dropped back a few feet down the tunnel, panicking as his eyes shifted quickly though the dark. A giant sliver between the rocks looked like it could hold him, so he wedged himself between the stone, the tight squeeze making his organs crowd against the hole in his side. The hook in his wrist clicked softly against the stone.

Dean chanced a look out into the dark hallway. The silhouette of a human-shaped demon walked down the corridor. By the massive curled horns that dressed its head, Dean knew that it was Alistair. Alistair walked slowly, his clawed hand dragging along the wall lazily. His head was tilted back, and Dean could vaguely make out his dimly glowing eyes. Dean held his breath as the demon passed, turning his head away form the opening. It wasn't until he heard the demon's footsteps begin to echo that he exited the crack in the wall. Bella was crawling out of her hiding place as well, her eyes wide with fear. Dean grabbed her flesh hand and began to lead her quietly down the tunnel again.

A wrathful, deathly howl shattered the air not a moment later. Dean and Bella ran for their lives.

Dean could hear Bella's ankles cracking with each pounding step she took, and he was trying his best to ignore the pain in his knee and toe-less foot as well. But he would be damned _again_ before he stopped. Dean gritted his teeth and pushed on, and he could hear Bella keeping up with every step. Dean's mind raced along with his feet. Against everything he had gone through – both dead and alive – he was going to make it, so help him God. After unbelievable pain and immense sorrow. After breaking his hook. He was going to make it out of Hell, or die trying. Not as a demon, but as himself. If it was the last thing he did.

He heard Bella laughing beside him. Barely turning his head to look over his shoulder, he smiled at Bella. She smiled back, her face tired but more alive now than it had ever been. Looking ahead, his legs moving faster in excitement, filling with hope and joy. They were going to escape Hell. Dean knew it was possible, he had seen his father do it. He wasn't sure how, but he would find a way. The former hunter found he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. He was going to see the sun again, just once more before whatever forces took him. He was going to see his brother again. He didn't care that Sam had strayed since he had died. As long as Dean could see his baby brother's face once more, to see his smile…

Dean and Bella raced through Alistair's keep, zig-zagging through tunnels and halls. More than a couple of times they had to back track and take a different route. It frustrated Dean, but they kept going. Dean would stop sometimes to stand and listen. As soon as he heard the screaming of thousands of souls, they would start running toward it. The fear of being caught again was always present. However, their determination and passion over-shadowed that fear. No doubt, Alistair was looking for them. But there were no signs of demons anywhere else, and they never saw or heard the horned-demon again.

Dean and Bella rounded a corner. They had no idea how long they had been running – maybe fifteen minutes, maybe two hours – and their broken bones could hardly take anymore. Dean came to an abrupt halt. Bella slammed into him, her skeletal hand leaving scratches on his bruised back as she pushed off of him. Dean didn't react. She looked over his shoulder and gasped. They had just entered into a great stone hall. Blood ran down in red streams from the pillars lining the sides of the great room. Fire burned outside the windows, which were vibrating slightly from the great magnitude of the cries of the damned.

Dean and Bella sprinted to the enormous metal doors on the other end of the hall, slamming into it and pushing against it with all the leftover strength their broken bodies had left. Dean heaving his shoulder into it, Bella pushing with her hands, their grunts and gasps turning from determination to desperation. But after lifting themselves off their hooks and running through the halls of Alistair's madhouse, there was nothing more for them to give. Bella's watery breath was loud in the echoing hall. She collapsed against the door and slide down to the floor. Dean stopped as well, panting like a dog.

_"I can't… go on… much longer…"_ Bella said in between breaths. "_I can't… I just…"_

Dean looked down at her. Her body shook with exhaustion and pain. Her dark blonde hair tumbled past her head, hiding her face. But it didn't stop Dean from seeing the tears hit the ground next to her knees. A sudden anger took hold of Dean, fueled by his commitment to escape that was still going strong.

"Now you listen to me." Dean growled. "I did not turn back for you just so you could give up at the first obstacle. The Bella I knew was more stubborn than this door is right now. So God damn it Bella, get up!"

Bella looked up at him, her eyes watery and full of numb wonder. Dean growled again as he grabbed her by her shoulders and hoisted her to her feet. When she was standing, he shook her once.

"We did not come all this way to stop and cry!" Dean shouted. "We are not demons yet, and by God I swear that we will never become one. I hate to admit it, but I can't do this without you. We are getting out of here, Abigail, and you are going to stand and fight to the end."

Bella's breath hitched at hearing her true name. Dean spun to the door and slammed his hands against it with a loud howl. He pushed against the door, baring his teeth as his muscles strained once again. The hook in his wrist began burning, sizzling around his skin. Bella watched in amazement as the heavy metal door slowly began to creak open. Her brow knitted together as the same angry determination welled up inside her as well. Giving an outraged cry, Bella slammed her shoulder against the other metal door. Her hook in her shoulder burned and glowed as well, but Bella was mainly focused on the giant hunk of metal, which was also slowly starting to move.

The hinges on the doors creaked and groaned loudly, echoing off of the walls. The doors were heavy. Heavier than anything Dean had ever moved. He pressed his forehead against the metal and he took a step forward. The muscles in his back tightened around his shattered spine, sending lightning bolts of pain through him. But Dean just clenched his jaw, took all the pain in his body and converted it into energy. He would not give up. He was a man, a hunter, a son, and a brother. Nothing, not Alistair or some stupid fucking door, was going to stop him.

A blast of hot air rushed over them as the doors finally swung open enough. Bella and Dean peeked through the crack in the doors that was just about big enough for them to slip through. The only thing they saw on the other side was hellfire and cables, accompanied by the screams of souls and the laughter of demons. Dean and Bella looked at each other, cracking smiles once again.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?!" A deep voice boomed at the other end of the Hall. Dean and Bella spun around. Alistair stood in a charging stance, his horns dripping more blood than ever and his face contorted in seething rage. "Well playtime is over, kiddos!"

Dean shoved Bella through the crack in the doors, and followed her not a second later. Alistair's furious roar sounded mutely through the hall as he charged through the pillars. They made for the steps leading away on the other side of the doors, but stopped short after five steps. Dean flailed his arms as he tried to keep himself from falling off of the abrupt end of the stairs and into the fiery inferno below. Cables and souls filled the air, just like when Dean had first arrived. Bella looked at him.

_"Now what?!"_ She screamed over the roar of the fire. Dean looked over the edge, his mind racing, trying to think of a plan. There was nowhere they could go except back the way they came where a very angry Alistair was charging their way. Then, his mind cleared as he realized there was really only one thing they could do.

Dean held his hand out toward Bella, his eye gleaming. "Do you trust me?"

Bella stared at him, not quite sure what he was asking of her. The metal doors exploded open behind them, Alistair absolutely burning with rage standing between them. He loosed another roar and started the charge down the steps toward the wayward souls. Bella turned to Dean and took his hand.

_"No."_ She answered.

They turned toward the edge and jumped. It seemed they were floating in the hot air for more than a couple seconds. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alistair tumble to the edge of the stairs, his arms reaching out and grasping for them. Dean just barely registered the slight pain of claws across the back of his neck, and a few stands of Bella's hair slicing off and burning away in the fire. The demon roared as they fell away from him. Other demons turned from what they were doing, watching the pair of souls drop away from them, listening to the outraged screams of their master.

The hot air stung Dean's eyes as they fell. The flames below them got closer, but they never reached them. Dean could still feel Bella's hand in his own. He turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were wide as they stared at the abyss that was always coming but never arriving. She must have felt his gaze, for she too, turned to look at Dean. They had been bathed in these flames before. They had felt the pain and agony that comes with being burned alive and never being able to die, a pain that seemed insignificant compared to what they had been through. Dean knew this. He saw that Bella knew this. Setting their souls in strength, they turned their gazes back to the flames below, unafraid of what would come when they met.

But they never did. The fire burned around them and smoke clouded their vision. Dean and Bella coughed, holding each others hand tightly. Squinting his eye, Dean peered through the smoke. It seemed endless, vast and unfathomable. He worried that they would fall forever. But then something caught his eye. A small burst of light that was gone just as fast as it had appeared. Then there were more, and a rumbling sound filled the air. Lightning, and thunder Dean realized. All of a sudden, he knew where they were.

The chains appeared not long after that. Only a few whistled past Dean and Bella as they entered the moving gateway, but the longer they fell, the more of them there were. Dean pulled Bella closer to him in the fall, trying to keep her from hitting one. She gazed around them, familiarity in her eyes. Dean peered through the smoke-turned-cloud that surrounded them, trying to figure out what was going on. Then he saw it. The dried, cracked earth that he had fist landed on when he had arrived in Hell. It was coming at them fast, and they weren't slowing down.

"Look out!" Dean screeched as he pulled Bella all the way against him, twisting them so he was below her.

They crashed to the ground. Dean howled in agony as his remaining bones shattered, splintering into thousands of pieces and embedding themselves into his muscles and organs. Bella's own painful cry filled his ears. Her hip bone, which was already sharp under her tight skin, had finally broken through. The force of the fall had ripped her skin open and pushed the bone through and into Dean's stomach. Her broken hip bone was impaled in Dean, effectively pinning him in place. Dean's own pelvis was what kept it from going all the way through. Their ribs were having a similar effect on each other, acting like a zipper and jamming between each other. Breathing was made even more difficult by this, and Dean could have sworn he felt Bella's dead heart rubbing against his through his gaping sternum. It took a few minutes of Dean moaning on the ground with Bella on top of him before the pain died down enough for him to function. He had to get Bella off of him before the healing started and they ended up fused together.

Every movement was another round of agony as Dean brought his arms up to grasp Bella and peel her off of him. Bella was also trying to push herself up from Dean, but her jutting hip bone made it hard for her. Their ribs were stuck at odd angles, making the process of coming apart even more painful. They screamed together as they struggled to separate. Their ribs ground together as they were forced apart with a disturbing _shuck _noise. Gasping from the struggle, Dean moved his hands down to Bella's waist, where her hip had dislocated from her spine and dug into his intestines. With one powerful yank, Dean accidentally ended up throwing Bella a short distance away and on to her back, both of them yelling from the pain.. But they were separated, and for a few minutes they laid there, letting their bodies heal into the state they had been in before. Broken, but not obliterated.

Dean sat up painfully. It had grown darker since they had landed, the gateway having moved off in another direction. The lightning grew farther into the distance, and before it became completely dark again, Dean grabbed Bella's hand. The heavy darkness that engulfed Dean brought back memories of right after his death. All the events of that day seemed to be happening again, only this time in reverse.

_"We made it…"_ He heard Bella say. _"We… We're alive…?"_

It was a poorly-worded question, and Dean wanted to make a snarky comment about how no, they weren't alive. But his own bewilderment stopped him. He gazed off into the darkness, the pure silence that had almost driven him mad the first time now a glorious reprieve.

"Yeah…" He answered, his throat dry. "We survived…"

They sat there for a while holding hands, not wanting to let go. The gateway did not return, and the whispers and footsteps of the strange things in the darkness never started. Instead, the only sound was their labored breathing, which gradually got lighter as they rested. Finally, Bella and Dean stood up together. They had no idea what to do. Dean started walking in the opposite direction that the gateway had gone, Bella followed in silence. Their joints ached, broken bones creaked, and the hole in Dean's side was oozing. They didn't look like humans. Not in the slightest. By any human means, they should have been dead. But they weren't demons. They weren't demons, and that was all Dean really cared about. Gordon had been wrong. He would not become the thing that he had hunted. There was no ironic truth to being a hunter. There was only living and dying, taking it all and rolling with it. There was fighting and there was loving. There was so much more to being a hunter than killing demons and them becoming one.

The only reminders they had of their ordeal were the hooks in their shoulder and wrist. The metal ached, making Dean want to try to pull it out. But he didn't dare let go of Bella as they walked through the dark.

Then there was a light.

It was above them, and at first Dean wasn't sure it was actually there. But he kept his eye on it and it never went away. Bella saw it to. Simultaneously, they transitioned from walking to trotting, and then to jogging, and finally to running again, never letting go of each others hands. The light grew brighter and bigger, sinking down to their level the closer they got to it. Soon they were standing before it, gazing into it. It was a soft light, as if from a very large candle. And Dean could hear something coming from it. He strained his ears to listen. What he heard brought tears to his eyes.

It was birds chirping. It was wind blowing through trees. It was light spring rain. It was the sound of home. Dean could almost smell it, too.

_"Dean…" _Bella whispered. She gripped his hands with her other hand, too, but never took her eyes off the light, afraid it might go away if she blinked.

Dean didn't say anything. Just stared at the light, listening to the most peaceful sounds he had ever heard. They had done it. They had reached the edge of Hell.

"You go first." Dean said. Bella looked at him, her bruised and scarred face streaked with tears. Her eyes glowed in the light, the brightest hope and joy Dean had ever seen. He smiled at her. "I'll see you on the other side."

Bella squeezed his hands. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn't need to. Dean felt exactly the same way, and it was all in their eyes.

It was over. They were free.

She stepped into the light. With a small chime of soft bells, it engulfed her and carried her away. She was gone.

Dean approached the light slowly. It was warm and gentle, like a loved one's touch. Moving forward, Dean closed his eye and spread his arms, letting the light engulf him and lift him up. Dean let out a final breath as the light carried him away from suffering and pain, toward a place where Dean hoped he would find peace.

* * *

Dean opened his eye. He looked around.

Cold concrete walls surrounded him. Flickering security lights hung above his head. He could feel the shackles around his feet and the hooks in his shoulders and wrist. He was back in the Silent Room. Dean felt the cold grip of fear embrace him. _No…_

"Well, that was interesting."

Alistair stood in front of him, his feet spread apart and an amused look on his face. Dean's mouth hung open, but he wasn't breathing, his eyes were wide with shock. This was wrong. He had escaped, he had gotten out. He and Bella-

Dean snapped his head around. Bella hung silently on her rack. Her face was calm and removed. She didn't look as though she had just been through Hell with Dean. Confusion, shock, and anguish curled themselves tight in Dean's chest. He looked back to Alistair. The demon tilted his head.

"Don't think that any of that would actually work. You don't sneeze without me knowing about it." The demon grinned.

"No, this… this can't be real." Dean mumbled. "This is just a trick, this…"

"I think you've got it the other way around, son."

An illusion? It was all an illusion? No, no it couldn't have. He was out. He was _free._ Dean shook his head, muttering under his breath.

Dean twisted his head, but everywhere he looked he saw the concrete walls. He closed his eye and opened it again, hoping that he would wake up somewhere else. He tried to move his arms and shoulders, the hooks constraining against his muscles as a painful indicator that this was real, and he was there. Dean felt panic rise in his chest. His mutterings became more frantic, more desperate. He looked over at Bella again. She was looking back at him, but her eyebrow was cocked in confusion, her head tilted to the side. She had absolutely no idea what was going on. She hadn't been a part of it. He was alone.

Dean yanked on his rack, screaming at Alistair, calling him a liar and other various, vulgar names. He had been so close! He could still smell the fresh air, taste the rain on his lips. He would have seen his brother again, he would have seen his Sammy one last time. He had been there, he knew he had. His outraged name-calling turned into frustrated growls as he strained against his hooks again. He had gotten free of the hooks once, he could do it again. He didn't care if Alistair was standing right there. He grabbed the bar above his head again and twisted his wrist. The hook squelched and gurgled with blood as his wrist moved, but it did not budge from where it was. No matter how hard Dean tried, he could not get free.

Dean let go of the bar and thrashed on his rack, desperation moving him, his furious roars filling the air. Gordon and Bella stared at him, watching in silent anxiety as the hooks began to burn in his shoulders and wrists, twisting and bending. The howls of Dean Winchester reached out of the Silent Room and into Hell, rattling the cables. But it was not a cry of anger. It was the howl of a man who had had his hope ripped out from under him. Dean desperately hung onto the feelings of happiness and peace that he had felt when he had stepped into the light, but the hot air and grinding hooks overpowered those feelings, until once again, there was nothing but pain and misery. Dean felt tears streaming from his eye. He had been so close. He had tried so hard, gone so far, but in the end, it was just an illusion. The Silent Room wasn't going away, nor was Alistair, Bella, and Gordon. Dean was still there, he was still trapped. He was still in Hell. Dean sobbed, throwing back his head and lamenting to the ceiling his sorrow and torment.

Just as the last dredges of hope shattered in Dean, so too did the hook in his left shoulder.

* * *

A/N: NOT DEAD! Haha! Do you know how hard it is to use all the different synonyms of 'scream' effectively? Very hard, let me tell you. So I'm sorry if that word seems very repetitive. I tried. For the longest time I wasn't sure what to do next, but then my lovely sister gave me this fantastic idea. And I loved it so much I cranked it out in like two nights.

NOTE: There is going to be some heavy duty editing of the first few chapters. I already did the first one. So keep an eye out for that.

As always, read, review, and enjoy!


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